Chapter 38
Not gonna lie, I feel pretty proud of myself for putting that part together too.
As soon as Leslie mentioned the unmarked windowless van, I remembered the one that showed up at my corner. The one that made
Tond so scared he hid up my butt crack.
The surveyors weren’t surveyors, and they weren’t hit men after him or me, they were FBI guys scoping out dirty dealings at
the construction site. Honestly, I’m relieved that I’m not the only one concerned about the goings-on at ol’ man Merle’s Corruption
Emporium.
Not far off, Leslie’s being handcuffed, which, yay. Her face is furious and swollen around the eyes, but she’s giving up without a fight. A very bloody Hannah gives me a weak
thumbs-up as she’s being loaded onto a stretcher. Benny’s sitting on the curb, getting his forearm wrapped up from where Leslie
stomped on it. Leslie’s bag of cash has been tossed onto the parkway, semi-hidden behind a tree where Jean dragged and then
abandoned it when he discovered its lack of treats (note to self: Make it up to him later).
The bag is surrounded by a halo of green bills, and I see Marlowe edging toward it. She catches me watching, so I shake my head a little, sending the telepathic message Not yet, hoping she can hear it.
But where is Merle? I didn’t see them take him away. Did I miss it? I crane my head a little more and see him surrounded by
a crowd of . . . admirers?
Merle is literally shaking the hands of the cops and the EMTs and a couple of parents who dared to venture over.
I’m sorry, what?
I scramble to my feet and brush off my shirt as though the blood there is just a little dust and not a whole-ass gore fest.
“Pardon me,” I say to the FBI guy holding the pizza box. “Hi. Concerned citizen here. Shouldn’t you be arresting that guy?
He’s the alderman, mucho corruption, if you know what I mean.”
The FBI guy does not respond. He kind of squints and looks through me, as though thinking about important FBI stuff through
my torso. Like he can just will me into not existing. I’ll admit it is very disconcerting. So I take a page out of Claudia’s book and snap my fingers in his
face. He sort of jumps, but then goes back to his pretending-I’m-not-here schtick.
I probably shouldn’t try the slap.
Meanwhile, the other guy is still taking in the scene with a panicked look on his face. I’d bet a baby bag full of Tond’s
money that these guys are low-level interns who did not expect to see any action at the sinkhole and then missed alllll of the action. And because I’m a nice guy, I’m about to save their asses and
give them the scoop of a lifetime on Merle.
But before I can say a single juicy word, the panicked one steps in, whispers to the staring one, and they brush past me,
speed walk toward the bag of cash, stuff the escaped bills back into the bag, hop in their windowless van with something resembling
relief, and drive away.
Marlowe’s jaw drops.
My soul escapes through my anus.
Welp.
That money is gone for good.
A couple yards away, the EMTs call out to the firefighters, and I realize they’re finishing up. The ambulance is about to
shut its doors, so this is my chance to be a good friend. Last time I fumbled. This time, I take it.
I hop in the back of the ambulance, ignoring the EMTs’ protests, and give Hannah a big, gentle hug.
“Thanks for keeping my blood mostly on the inside,” Hannah says. “I know outside blood isn’t really your deal.”
Honestly, I hadn’t thought about it for one hot second. I did it because I had to.
“Text me when you get home, okay?” I say.
She gives me another thumbs-up, and I edge around the bag of saline, hop out of the ambulance, and watch it drive away. Then
I join Benny and Marlowe on the curb, all three of us totally exhausted and absentmindedly petting the dogs as they stretch
out around us.
“Is Leslie going to die?” Marlowe asks. After missing most of the fireworks, Marlowe seems to be determined to get every detail
out of us.
I shake my head. “The EMT said she wouldn’t be able to lower her right eyebrow for a few months, but otherwise, she’ll be
fine. Turns out there wasn’t nearly enough Botox in that syringe to actually do any damage. Which I wish I had known like
thirty minutes ago.”
“This is all my fault,” Benny says, holding his head in his hands. “I should’ve just said yes when she asked me to be Charlie’s
handler for the dog show. And I definitely should not have told her I was taking the poodles to the dog park instead of training Charlie today.”
Apparently, when he told this to Leslie, that was the last straw for her. The straw that pushed her from carefully plotting
one murder at a time to committing many, many crimes of passion all at once.
“I’m the one who asked you to take the poodles,” I say. “And anyway, we had no idea she was an unhinged murderer.” But I understand
how he feels, because I don’t think I’ll ever shake the feeling that I failed Claudia. I put my hand on his good arm and he
winces. “Sorry.”
“She stomped on both of them,” he says.
“Well, I hope you get those arms in tip-top shape for dog walking soon,” I say. “These poodles aren’t going to walk themselves . . .
and neither am I!”
“Pro bono, I assume,” he says, grinning.
“You know it.”
Marlowe has been picking leaves out of Jacques’s pompadour, and she abruptly changes the subject. “Hey, Mo, did you finish
those adoption videos?”
“Sure did,” I say.
“How come you haven’t sent them to me yet?” Marlowe says impatiently, tapping her phone.
“I’ve been solving murders, hello? A little busy?”
Marlowe rolls her eyes. “Yeah, and I had a math test. It’s called multitasking.”
“Okay okay,” I say, sending her the files on my phone.
Yeah, I still can’t wait to get rid of the poodles, but as Jean nudges me for another scritch, I know I’m really going to
miss them. Without them, it’ll be like none of this ever happened.
At least I’ll still have my seventh-grade sidekick. And hopefully Benny. And even more hopefully, Tasha—
Shit.
I leap up. “I have to go tell Tasha that things are about to get very complicated at her job.” I point at Benny. “Can you watch the dogs real quick?”
When I burst into the alderman’s office, Tasha is perched on the edge of the desk, staring blankly at the floor. She looks
up when I enter and sort of grimaces at me.
Okay, with murder on the brain, I did neglect to take into consideration potential romantic awkwardness between us after the
whole “accusing her of theft and possibly murder” thing. We’ll just have to push through. Couples have been through worse,
right?
Then she hops off the desk and runs into my arms, and I feel my whole body relax.
“Tasha, I am so so sorry about the other night at the coffee shop. I should’ve never accused you of murder.”
“Apology accepted. I’m just glad you’re okay!” she says. “Did you get my texts?”
I pull out of the hug and look at my phone, full of unread notifications from her.
“Mo, listen, those weren’t real surveyors at your corner,” she says breathlessly. “No one put in an order to fix the sinkhole.
And once I started digging into it, there’s so much weird stuff—bribes, kickbacks, favors, extra books! Old-school Chicago
shit! That parking garage looks problematic in a thousand different ways. And there have been a bunch of weird people milling around outside the office, in khakis. Just today, we’ve gotten a ton of hang-up calls . . .”
“It’s cool, it’s cool,” I say, rubbing her shoulders. “It’s just the FBI.”
“I’m sorry—the what?” she says, stiffening.
“They’ve been investigating Merle.”
Her eyes widen. “Are you sure?”
“Yep. But just for fraud! And maybe tax stuff!”
“Why do you sound so excited about it?”
“Oh, because he’s not the murderer. Leslie’s the murderer!” I have a feeling I still sound too excited, so as a little coda, I give my best serious face.
She closes her eyes. “This is sort of a lot.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Guess you might want to think about giving your two weeks.”
“Damn,” she breathes. She bites her lip and looks at me. She’s in that stupid bow tie again and it’s driving me crazy. Is
it possible that the massive amount of adrenaline coursing through my body after stopping a murderer is being chemically converted
to horniness? Could be. This is the absolute worst timing, what with the FBI running around and everything, but I nibble her ear and whisper, “Let’s hop over to my place, I
don’t think we should be here right now.”
“I can’t leave the office unattended. But I also probably shouldn’t do any more work until I know what’s going on.” She nods at the cubicle next door. “So . . . I have a
better idea.”
Moments later, we’re on top of the actual conference table, hidden by that flimsy cubicle wall. And as hot as it is to bang
on a folding table with federal danger nipping at our heels, I can’t stop myself from wondering how much of our relationship
is going to take place in a government office.
I’m in socks and not much else, and her skirt’s hiked up, shirt open, when the sound of screeching cars fills the air, followed
by a polite—but loud—knocking.
She’s buttoned back up in a flash, but I seem to have lost my shirt, which is just great. I’m still hunting under the conference table when she unlocks and opens the front door.
“Mo?” she calls back to me. “It’s the FBI.”
Of course it is.
There are eight of them this time, but (ugh) not the interns with my cash.
These guys are in dark suits and skirts, like it’s opening night for an FBI musical or something.
They briefly question Tasha and me in separate rooms, and maybe it’s the fact that I’m not wearing a shirt, but they’re easily convinced that we were making out and not shredding important documents.
I’m still a little salty, though. Those jerks take my money, interrupt my quality time, and then have the nerve to question
me in my bra??
The team efficiently loads up dollies of boxes and computer towers while I stand there trying to look like I meant to be shirtless.
They can’t be there for longer than about ten minutes, and then they disappear out the door. The last one to go hands me my
shirt, all neatly folded and creased, which feels like a violation of my privacy for reasons I can’t articulate.
I put it back on, and as Tasha walks me to the door, I give her a kiss on the cheek.
“That was wild,” she says. “It all happened so fast, I can’t believe it was real.”
“I need a second job anyway,” I say, “so maybe we can job hunt together. How romantic, huh?”
“What do you mean?” she asks, with a frown.
“We’ll sit in coffee shops and look at LinkedIn and maybe even be each other’s references. Don’t tell them about my sweet
sex moves, though, that’s what got me fired from my last gig.”
She shakes her head sweetly and nods back toward her desk. “But I don’t need a new job. I have a job.”
I blink at her, waiting for the punch line.
“Merle’s gonna go to jail, Tasha.”
She smiles brightly. “No, the FBI lady I just talked to said it looked like it was all Leslie. The extra books and the corruption and everything. Merle told them everything when the cops arrested her.”
“But you know that’s not true,” I say quietly. “It was on his computer. You know he was being dodgy about the construction. He was definitely bribing people. And that’s probably the tip of the iceberg.”
“Or maybe,” she says, pulling me close again, “it was just a slip-up. Maybe it was more pressure from Leslie. I thought he was a murderer, Mo. But he’s a flawed and decent guy who loves this complicated city. He just needs to be reminded of that.”
Is she right? Am I being too judgy? I think about how he was going to hand the murder crowbar to Leslie.
No, I am absolutely not being too judgy.
Merle’s a coward, sure, but he’s a coward with a lot of power. And worse—entitlement. If he wants to be corrupt, to get what he wants, then that’s what he’ll do. Tasha wants to
believe in a new Chicago, but she’s not willing to admit that the old bribey Chicago is still in operation, right under her
nose. She’s too relieved that her boss isn’t a murderer.
“No way. I’m not buying it,” I say. “He may not be a murderer, but he’s definitely corrupt. Which is a bad look for a politician.”
“This is a huge opportunity for me, Mo. With Leslie gone, I could be chief of staff.”
“You want to be Merle’s chief of staff?”
“I can help people,” she adds. “And I can keep an eye on Merle.”
I bite my lip.
“What?” she demands. “Come on, Mo. I supported you during your hijinks.”
“Hijinks? I solved a double murder!”
“This is my career. I’ve only ever wanted to be a good guy in politics.”
“Well, Tasha,” I say, “you’ll make a hell of a splash as Merle’s Number One Henchperson.”
Her beautiful, nerdy, lovable face goes on lockdown.
“Why do you care so much about my job anyway,” she says stonily. “You didn’t even know what an alderman was a month ago.”
Honestly, fair point. Why am I so upset about Merle’s dirty dealings? And do I really care that much about aldermanic office politics??
I pause for a second to actually feel my feelings. “You work so much,” I say, finally. “You can only ever squeeze me in between meetings and projects, and only if I visit you here.” I wave my
hand at the conference table that so recently hosted us.
“That’s not fair,” she says. “We went to Dickie’s that one time, and I met you at that cool coffee shop in the South Loop
where you accused me of murder.”
I roll my eyes. “God, let it go already. It’s not always just about you, if you’re keeping track, I accused everybody of murder.”
We grin at each other.
“I’ll make more time for you, I promise,” Tasha says. “Here, I’ll prove it to you. Let’s have a date, a real date.” She pulls
out her phone and scrolls through her calendar, and I cuddle up next to her.
“Um, are you free October third?”
Oh. Nuts. She’s serious, isn’t she.
“That’s like a month from now,” I say softly.
“I’m sorry, Mo, it’s an election year, things are about to get crazy and I want to make sure we win—”
I lean in and give her one last long kiss.
“I should go,” I say. And then I walk away without looking back.
Because if I look back, I’ll see what I want.
And I know I’m not getting it.